Letters to the Moon
by fairy-in-training
Summary: Hermione finds Draco’s diary and Draco swears Hermione is going to ‘vanish’ if she’s read it. When they meet and Hermione returns the diary to Draco, she says she hasn’t read it. But Draco whispers to Hermione, “Bad liar.” --Prologue and Chapter 1 up--
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter -_-

_**Letters to the Moon**_

* * *

Prologue

"just a while longer"

* * *

_Dear Moon,_

_Please tell Draco everyone has been missing him. I have so much to tell him – yesterday Ron complained Hogwarts was then too quiet. I think he had meant that it was because Draco was not here but you see, Ron would never admit it that they had begun to warm up before. Please tell Draco that for me – he might find it amusing. The healers told Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy there was not much they could do anymore. They told them to either keep waiting, which is no telling for how long or whether the waiting will ever end – or to let go. I know I made an error. I know I should not have had doubted him, and I know I have not yet had a chance to apologize to him – so I don't want to let go. Please tell Draco don't make them let go. Tell him to return. Even if he would just give us a sign, anything at all if he isn't ready to come back – then it would be enough. Just let them know he is not telling them to let go. And tell him I miss him._

_From, Hermione_

_P.S: I gave Dumbledore a big, plushy teddy-bear for Christmas like you told me to, Draco. By the way he had laughed when he received it, I think he liked it._

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.

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Hermione landed on the roof carefully. She let her broom hover in the air and walked over to the small, now-too-familiar house-shaped mailbox settled on a side of the roof. It was prettily decorated, charmed to resist any kinds of weather and magically settled there on the Great Hall roof by someone who told Hermione any letters that were slipped into the box will be sent to the moon, who will in return deliver the letters' contents to anyone they were addressed to, no matter where the person was. Hermione hadn't believed him then, but now that he seemed to be nowhere and there was no one else to deliver her words to him, she thought the Moon might just be able to do it for her. In truth she was willing to believe it wholeheartedly now.

She stooped before the house-shaped mailbox, finely made, and slipped in a folded paper through its window. She touched its roof, painted red by hands, and she could hear his voice when he first told her about the Moon mailbox months before – but right now, he sounded so far away that she barely believed he was ever there. With her fingers still on the mailbox's roof, she turned when she heard sound of someone approaching. She smiled at Harry as the black-haired boy flew her way.

Harry hovered near Hermione's floating broom.

"Narcissa Malfoy is here for you." he said. "I think – you better go."

Hermione thought he had just cancelled something he had formerly wanted to say, but she didn't make notice.

"Okay." she returned, pushing herself to stand and giving one last look at the house-shaped mailbox. She heaved out a refreshing sigh and turned to her broom, watched by Harry silently. When she was on her broom, she announced, "I'll beat you down."

Harry's weighing face instantly lightened and he smiled.

"I've heard that before."

Hermione smiled beamingly and swerved down daringly, leaving Harry to blink in surprise.

"Hermione! There isn't even a 'Go' yet!" he complained.

"I'm beating you down…!" Hermione waved, feeling the air brushing against her face and blowing past her hair jauntily.

Laughing, Harry flew down in his own breakneck speed, chasing swiftly after her.

Once, Hermione had screamed out he was mad when someone told her while they swerved in rounds and rounds recklessly on the same broom, that it actually made you feel alive, actually told you you were still alive. She had screamed out he was mad and demanded for him to put her down, but right now, here and then, she was enjoying every second of it – _living_.

~*~*~

When Hermione reached the empty classroom in which Narcissa Malfoy was waiting for her, Hermione saw the woman sitting in a seat near the window, gazing out of it without noticing Hermione's entrance. In the quiet gleam of sunrays that lit the dim classroom, Hermione saw they dance on Narcissa's well arranged blond hair, and she realized just how much she missed that color.

Hermione walked over to her and pulled out a chair beside Narcissa. As soon as the scraping sound took her attention, she turned and when Hermione had taken her seat, Narcissa took Hermione's hands in hers, her beautiful face signing marks of recently shed tears.

"He liked you so much…" she simply began with a smile. Her fingers were cold on Hermione's skin. "That is why we thought of telling you of our decision, Lucius and I." her voice slowed, her tone quieted and there was a faint frown on her face although she was smiling. "You should know."

Hermione couldn't move, suddenly she couldn't feel the cold of Narcissa's fingers on hers. She knew what her words meant.

They were going to break the life-support spell cast on him.

Before, she had told herself and held to it not to cry because he might wake. One day he might wake and even if he wouldn't – though the thought was taboo to her – when she went into his bedroom in the manor she would still be able to see him on the lavishly covered bed, unmoving and cold and pale though he was. The thought of not seeing him anywhere frightened her more than anything.

"No." Hermione choked out. She felt all the strength she had used to fight against crying leave her. They were going to let him go, let everything end. As soon as senses were back in her mind, urging her to do something to stop them from taking this silly, silly decision, Hermione shook her head and clutched at Narcissa's hands. "No—"

"Hermione." Narcissa cut in softly, firmly. She raised a hand to Hermione's cheek. Hermione stared frantically back, into Narcissa's blue eyes, searching for assurance. She found none that would assure her the way she wanted. "We knew it'd happen." she told. "They think—"

"Let they think anything they want to think!" Hermione burst out, holding onto the edge of her self-control to keep the tears from spilling. She was frantic, struck with dread at what they would do – let him go. "They don't know what they're talking—"

"Maybe he wouldn't wake anymore." Narcissa cut in, again as softly but firmer. She held Hermione's cheek firmly, shaking her head. "I know how you feel, you know I do. But maybe he wouldn't wake anymore."

"And maybe he would." Hermione's voice strained and she looked down when the first drop of her tears trailed down her cheek.

Never, never in her life had she felt like this. She had had a grandmother whom she loved and died when she was old enough to understand what pain death causes to someone, and so she had had her share when her grandmother died and she had seen death elsewhere that hurt her but never, never in her life had she thought she would feel pain this much, would be unwilling this much, to know someone she liked would die, to know she had to let him go. Her heart clenched tight, she felt strangled and her throat burnt from the sobs she was still trying to stifle, refused to surrender to crying because it might mean admitting defeat. And admitting defeat was to stop hoping. Admitting defeat was to let him go.

She knew well how Lucius and Narcissa had even been willing to go to the muggle hospital for their son, so much had they done, so desperate had their desire showed in keeping their son. Nothing had changed though. He hadn't wake since the day they saw him fall in the Great Hall. She remembered well how he had reminded her about it, how he had forced his parents to see he probably wasn't going to stay – but when it happened, now, they couldn't accept it. She couldn't accept it and she would choose to be deaf and dumb and blind and ignore everything just to keep him.

"Please," Hermione forced her sore throat to voice, opening her eyes to see the blurry floor where her feet were, the tears clouding her sight. "Just a while longer." she whispered.

There was silence. Hermione kept her head low, shaking as she cried quietly, fearing so bad in her heart if Narcissa would turn her down. Then everything would be over.

But then, slowly Narcissa put her arms around Hermione and pulled her close.

"For you now, dear," she said soothingly, hugging her warmly. "Just a while longer." she gave in.

Hermione nodded gratefully, heaving out a shaky breath.

"Thank you."

That was how far love proved to be capable of making silly of someone as smart as her, but she wouldn't care. She wouldn't care even when she did realize she would probably simply get hurt just for another time for being the only one who was still clutching tightly at the hopes.

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_Dear Moon,_

_Has my letter reached him yet?_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Letters to the Moon**_

* * *

Chapter 1

"a moment of insanity"

* * *

The 'Pureblood Pageant' was opened to all witches and wizards of halfbloods and muggleborns in Hogwarts. The only standard needed was for every contestant to have a pureblood to escort him or her in the pageant – the objectives were to prove that halfbloods and muggleborns could act as finely as purebloods given the chance and 'unity'; blood-unity, house-unity. So far everything went too smoothly. Some say it was a surprise, but Hermione thought it wasn't.

Of course it should be a surprise when the purebloods (mainly girls) began to seek for the halfbloods and even the muggleborns who wanted to take part in the pageant, willingly offering themselves to be escorts. Then again it was clear that they were willing to overlook the blood differences and escort the 'lower bloods' simply because they _wanted_ to be part of the pageant. So although the pageant seemed to be reaching its objectives vigorously, Hermione wondered whether it was reaching them the way it _supposed_ to.

Then, the pageant wouldn't bother Hermione as much as it was if only Ron wasn't alluding to her to enter the pageant with _him_ every two minute – "I'm a pureblood and you're a muggleborn" – and when she had refused because – well, because Hermione Granger wasn't the one to enter any pageant thinking or unthinkingly, Ron had _exploded_. There were rumors about them now and the rumors spread that the reason Hermione wasn't entering was because her only candidate to be picked as an escort – Ron or so they thought – was a peasant. Hermione thought the rumors were rubbishes – as rumors always are – but Ron thought they were exactly what she was thinking.

Hermione sighed for the thirteenth time as she closed her book, picking up her book bag from the library table and standing to leave. She had read – _try_ to – but she had been at the same line for the past one minute and it wasn't a good sign, considering usually Hermione Granger could read _much_ in one minute.

She stopped when she saw a dark-green book lying on the floor between two bookshelves. She walked over to it and picked it up.

'D' written in silver was the single letter marked on the book leather cover. Hermione frowned and surveyed the library for signs of its owner. Finding none, everyone either talking quietly with his companions or reading silently away, she heaved out another sigh and tucked it above the pile of books loaded in her arms.

~*~*~

"_Hermione Granger found it – she asked if it was any of us', but no one said yes. I think she's taken it to find its owner."_

For some reason Draco only heard until 'Hermione Granger found it'. He was _appalled_.

Hermione Granger had taken Draco Malfoy's diary – how imprudent! And if Hermione Granger had any guts to actually flip its pages and read through – no, really – if Hermione Granger even flicked through its first page; on which Draco Malfoy had written 'Bloody Hell, world is a stocking-sized shithole', Draco Malfoy will make sure Hermione Granger _vanish_.

Draco stalked through the Great Hall straight towards the Gryffindor table. Since the Pureblood Pageant was announced to be taken place in Hogwarts a week ago, every time he walked past, the girls seemed to goggle over – not that they hadn't been before, but the goggling thing seemed more prominent now and, well, it wasn't that Draco didn't enjoy the attention, but it was rather disconcerting when every swing of your butt was followed by _such_ goggling eyes.

"Granger." Draco called straightforwardly when he reached her. He was opening his mouth to list the charges she was under for kidnapping his diary when Hermione stood, until he realized she wasn't acknowledging him.

"It's not _that_, Ron." she pressed, frowning tiredly. Draco's eyes flickered to his left when Ron too, stood, leaving Draco to stand in the middle of them. Because they didn't seem to see him, briefly Draco wondered if he was actually dead and was now one of those invisible, hair-rising ghosts he had seen in movies; something muggle he had just learned – not one like Moaning Myrtle or Headless Nick or Bloody Baron. "I never said I wanted to enter the pageant." Granger said.

"Yeah, I know." ruddy-weasel said, looking habitually offended. "Because you've thought of it over. You knew I was just a peasant from the start so you decided not to take part in it."

Granger stared at him disbelievingly.

"What are you talking about?" she raised her voice, ignoring the attention they were getting. Draco was now officially in the middle of prickling saliva – especially from his _left_. "Those are just rumors. I'm not the kind to enter a pageant even if it's to prove something – which I don't really believe in anyway and _you_ should know that. It's just—"

Having had quite enough of the lame squabble, not to mention the rain it was producing at his face, Draco raised his hands to Hermione and Ron's face level.

They blinked.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron snarled, as if shocked to see him for the first time there.

Draco almost rolled his eyes, but resorted to his best driving-'em-all-mad scheme. He _smirked_.

"Just for clearance… I'm still alive." he announced, flashing Ron a set of sparkling teeth even Voldemort couldn't match. In return of his smirk, ruddy-weasel clenched his jaw and seemed constipated. Concerned to be mistaken, Draco looked again, and he realized that ruddy-weasel was actually scowling. Suddenly a madder scheme popped into Draco's mind. He leaned to a side, closer for a fraction of an inch to Granger. "You see, Weasley—" Ron frowned glaringly at him at the proper surname. "—Granger is actually planning to enter the pageant with _me_. She didn't want to tell you just yet because, well, she knew you'd be reacting like _this_."

Voices rose – not really – _exploded_ in the Great Hall.

Some gawked, some frowned and muttered, most exclaimed '_What_?', sounding shocker than when they received the death of their great-great-great grandpa's, and some went to the extremity of standing up and craning their neck to the Gryffindor table as though to see for certain whether the speaker was indeed Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's eyes widened, fixed on Draco's face with shock and disbelief.

Ron's eyes snapped to Hermione, accusing and offended.

"Thank you for telling me then, Malfoy." he said lowly, tearing his eyes away from Hermione to stare hard at Draco's self-satisfied expression.

Hermione removed her surprised gaze to Ron but before she could react, he had turned and in a moment was out of the Great Hall massive door.

When Granger turned back to him, Draco thought she looked like she was about to cry.

"_Malfoy_!" Hermione and Harry shouted simultaneously.

"Shouldn't blame me he's so gullible." Draco drawled, and instead of continuing the acting, he leaned dangerously close to Hermione. Even though she seemed faltering, she remained staring sharply at him. "Where is my book?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Hermione's face changed. Draco couldn't quite put what it was but for a terrifying moment he thought she _did_ read his diary. Then, she held her head high and turned to seize the exact book from the table. She shoved it harshly to his chest.

"I wouldn't accept your thank you." she said as quiet, her voice strained.

Draco fingered his book. He gave her a bitter smile.

"Why would I thank you in the first place?" he remained staring into her dark brown eyes and she seemed to struggle at keeping the eye contact. "Tell me you didn't open it." he ordered, putting the hint of a warning in his voice.

"I didn't." Hermione retorted.

Draco edged closer. Hermione stood still tensely – by then she could even make out her image in his cold gray eyes but somehow, they were still not clear enough.

"Bad liar." he mouthed.

Anger flashed across Hermione's face.

"I _didn't_." she repeated. "I didn't know who the owner was till you mentioned it. Why, keeping the world secret in there?" she mocked.

Ignoring the harsh remark, Draco distanced away and left.

Hermione released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

It had never been easy for her to lie.

~*~*~

After the fight interlude with Malfoy's infantile insertion in the Great Hall, Ron hadn't bothered trying another bicker with her for the entire day and at the moment, although fear was slashing at her inside so frantically, afraid if the redhead had decided she was not worth it _anymore_, Hermione didn't feel like confronting him.

Perhaps later, she soothed herself, when they both had had time to cool.

Hermione sat down on the couch nearest to the fireplace, a book in her lap – a copy of the book she had returned to its owner this evening. The common room was quiet as she made sure she was the only one left.

Heaving out a sigh, Hermione opened the book in her lap and began to read.

**xXx**

_BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BLOODY BOOK_

_I never wanted to write. I never wanted to write in you!!_

**xXx**

Hermione blinked. The rest that was written on the page were mad scratches and clumsy splatters of ink. She flicked to the book second page.

**xXx**

_Tuesday, 16 July_

_It rooted from a moment of insanity._

_Father was enraged at something I did. Something I knew he should be enraged at. But then, in that moment of insanity he cursed me with a killing curse. An ancient, a killing-you-slowly-and-painfully killing curse. _

_I'm going to die._

**xXx**

Hermione read the lines again, surprised. There was nothing else after the seventh line but blots of ink and scratches of the quill, although not as deep as they were on the first page. It seemed that he was annoyed, uncertain on how to write the whole story properly.

She turned to another page.

**xXx**

_Monday, 29 July_

_I flew around the manor today. I tried to fly with my eyes closed. It worked – for a second or two before I crashed into a tree and fell from its branches. I remember crashing into the same tree when I flied for the first time. But when I fell today, Mother looked even more terrified. She cried again._

_Every time she saw me she cried now. Last night I woke and found her beside my bed, sitting on the floor and sleeping with her head on the bed._

_She barely looks at Father now._

_Sometime before, I did think of wanting to have a lighter family – not the kind with a Death Eater father in it but a real businessman kind – but now that he's started coming home more frequently even just for lunch and smiles at me, it feels wrong. His smiles looked odd. Not the kind I wanted. He just smiles and looks guilty. Regretting. I don't get it. Don't they know all those make me sad? They're supposed to act fine like I do. They're supposed to be stronger. Every time Mother cries I hate myself. Every time Father looks at me and get that guilt-ridden look on his face I hate myself. I don't blame them. I would never blame them. I would tell everyone it was an accident, not their fault. Don't they get it? They aren't supposed to show they're sad._

_It hurts me._

**xXx**

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the page. Maybe Malfoy meant nothing to her, but she wasn't expecting _this_ when she made a copy of his diary out of rebel for what he had done to her and her friends in the past years. She only realized she had been crying when her hand wiped her face.

"Oh no." she frowned helplessly at the book. "I wish I hadn't taken it."

~*~*~

It wasn't Draco's idea. He was originally practically forced by the healer that worked for his family, saying it might help to pour his feelings out into a book if he didn't want to disclose them to someone. Draco hadn't wanted to write, but seeing his Mother's worry-stricken face, he forced himself to and occasionally flicked the pages to Narcissa just to show her he did write. And it wasn't his idea not to cast protecting spells on the book either. Again, he was somehow persuaded into following the bloody healer's advice not to cast any spells on his own diary – saying it would feel better if he didn't, it would feel light that he wasn't hiding anything he wrote from anyone by letting it spell-free. Draco had known the healer was talking worthless scrap, but again he lost to his Mother's beautiful, hopeful face.

Tonight, as Draco turned and tossed in his bed while Crabbe and Goyle's snore wafted throughout the boy dormitory from either side of his bed, he had a feeling that frightened him.

If he had to choose one thing that feared him most about dying, it was 'being pitied at'. Granger was the perfect prototype of someone who would give pity incessantly and that was why he panicked when he figured she had taken his book.

Draco frowned as he stared at the green ceiling; everything in his gaze green for the dormitory was dimly lit by murky green light.

Granger wouldn't _lie_ about it right? She did _say_ she didn't read it…

"Goddamnit Malfoy." Draco muttered, shutting his eyes firmly. "She said she didn't read it." he turned to lay flat on his face on the bed and hugged the pillow and began counting the sheep.

* * *

**A/N**: There you go two chapters in a row! I've wanted to post only prologue first, but I think it'd be annoying to have just posted prologue without an actual beginning, so I posted along 'chapter 1'… but how would I know? I humbly and desperately need _your_ comments since you know better -wink-… So tell me something please, and thanks for reading!


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